Bishop Lamont P.G.D.R. Lyrics

Last updated: 10/09/2012 05:40:47 AM

Obnoxiously I bomb, I came shockly
I trip and break so the deaths always come in 3’s
I’m priceless, now it’s your style – it’s just polite
Encore, I get you sicker more to leave the poor
No pigs or whores, my memoirs were meant for wars
I make that beef hard to chew for you herbivores
Nose ring, I murder when the melody
Radio killa – got you shakin’ like the elderly
80’s baby, shoe box full of tapes
I’m shittin’ on niggas, the style full of side tray
Uh they see the chuck so they’re tin balls
Fuckin up my socks, turn them orange from the inch solz
Used to smoke up bettes with a whole 5th of Henny yo
My project blow, recite for immunity
First time I’ve seen Woo Tang it meant bigga be
Revolution shit nigga, fuck the industry

How’s next to shine? I X these niggas like Antex with pesticide
Which leave ‘em petrified
Yo I came 4th, niggas ran off for protection hide
Protect your neck, your neck lashanned
I get a work to your neckless minds
She givin me neck, neck it while I’m reckless drivin’
And it’s only the second time we met
Windows tint, can’t see us with the naked eye
Fresh to death, you fresh to die
Art of flow, my lyrics work out like cardio
Sworn for my good exercise
Like the paper boy I’m so extra extra
Niggas with tags would love to put you next to God
Whole zig you like mesh on the vigilent nest
My music will stand the test of time
Who’s next to rhyme?

It’s battleship avenue attitude mission exquisite
The reason for schemin and why should you all come visit
The barbershop buzzin, the windin behind, who is it?
She spoil me royally, she say she got it I get it
Wife beater and wife niggas
I like Caesar pipe tight divas to live seizures
Cinematic moves is news to nice features
Pull up a seat and pick, my front yard’s a 40 seater
All I do is stand on this stupid, I can’t believe it
Swear the eye’s mit as mine, my number floodin the bleaches
(You can pizza?) Corner mascot block majesty’s
Modern day fonze, pull off the cool casually
If shit step it up hopin we meet
Niggas step it up hoes to compete, mac the vocal elite
Kinda cool rolling chills round the Atlas
I never say I’m perfect but pop’s name was Practice